


A Good Fight

by togina



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Public Sex (Not Explicit)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/togina/pseuds/togina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You remember that pub in London?” Steve went on, and Tony thought that someone should have made a note in the SSR records on Captain America. Something like, 'Subject is a brawler. Do not, under any circumstances, take him to a bar unless you're carrying brass knuckles and possibly an RPG.'</p><p>2015: Now translated into Chinese!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Fight

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [A Good Fight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2689853) by [junedune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/junedune/pseuds/junedune)



> A bit of amusing nonsense in response to [this](http://stevebucky-fest.dreamwidth.org/307.html?thread=899891#cmt899891) prompt over on dreamwidth.
> 
> Edit, 2015: Now in Chinese, by the amazing [junedune](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2689853)!

Tony had thought it would be funny. Steve owned a bike, after all, and Bucky wore more leather clothing than any nonagenarian had a right to, and looked better in it than Stark would admit. No one the same age as his father should be able to pull off leather pants. And while Tony wasn't about to take the old folks anywhere too scandalous, he figured a biker bar in Hoboken would give him the chance to tweet their shocked faces without worrying that Captain Righteous would stand up and start preaching about values.

He should have reconsidered when Steve's Harley revved into view, and two mirrored helmets glanced over at him: one painted blue, with white stars, the other black with red. He should _definitely_ have reconsidered when one of the Winter Soldier's hands appeared to be resting somewhere distinctly south of Captain America's waist. But no, he'd waited for them to pull off the helmets and slide off the bike, for Steve to go compliment some tattooed woman on her Ducati and Bucky to lean back on Steve's bike like he was waiting for GQ to come up and start the photoshoot. Tony had expected to scare them a little with modern America.

“Jarvis! Get the police! Get Fury! Ow, you gorilla, watch the hair! Get us out of here!” It turned out, he thought, ducking a bar stool aimed at his head and wishing for his suit, Steve and Bucky had brought all the scary with them from 1944.

The evening had started off all right. Captain America had appeared appropriately startled by all the long hair and leather vests – though not as much as he might have, before the Winter Soldier – and he kept politely approaching people to ask about their motorcycles. Tony had already uploaded a few good shots of the boy wonder's confusion when bikers took his tone as insult or comedy. Unfortunately, once they stopped guffawing at him, it became obvious that Steve Rogers knew a lot about Harley mechanics, and soon he was the center of a crowd standing outside, going over specs and detailing. Bucky had found the one place in the room that gave him a view of all the exits, the bathrooms, and Steve. That place happened to be behind the bar, but the Soviet assassin didn't seem inclined to let that stop him.

The bar tender was bigger than all of them. Possibly combined. Tony thought he might be related to Thor. He also didn't seem too pleased at finding a spry ninety-year-old in leather pants perched next to his whiskey. The t-shirt with “I'd Howl for Captain America” in block letters on the front, and “Go Commando” on the back probably didn't help. Tony needed to have words with whoever on the team had taken Barnes shopping. The bar tender shifted his angry mass toward the intruder, and instead of apologizing (which was more than even Tony had hoped for) or taking the man out with a bottle cap and a margarita shaker (which was what Tony had expected – and maybe wanted to watch, a little), Bucky rolled his shoulders back, shook out his arms, and curled his lips into a slow, dark smile.

In the bloody, not-quite-twenty/twenty-when-one-eye-is-swollen-shut hindsight of it all, that was the moment Tony should have dived back into the limo and run far, far away. Because the Winter Soldier was deadly, but Bucky Barnes's smirk struck terror into the hearts of the Avengers.

Except, Steve chose that moment to walk back inside, boots thumping on the deck slats beyond the door, thumbs hooked on the belt loops of his dark blue jeans. Bucky glanced over, still grinning like Christmas come early, and if Tony hadn't been running on the hyper awareness of an adrenaline rush, he might have missed the quick shake of Steve's head when he caught sight of his friend. No one else seemed to notice, even in the suddenly quiet room, but it was enough to make Bucky pout and vault over the bar to join them. And really, who could move like that in leather pants?

So everything was fine, for a little while. James Buchanan might have been a firecracker, Stark was learning, but he had his good friend St. Rogers to keep him out of trouble. He could just imagine them in the 1930s, scrawny kid Rogers making doe eyes at Barnes to convince him to walk away from a fight. They got their beers, and sat down at some other table that left all the exits in view, and Steve and Tony debated how much extra weight in ballistics a Harley could take. Bucky disappeared for longer than Tony thought was reasonable to use the facilities, but he'd heard that sort of thing got more difficult when you were nearly one hundred. Also, Steve's face went a little red during their debate over increasing the bike's momentum over chasms, and he seemed to lose the thread of the conversation. The pink cheeks Tony could blame on the heat, but Steve's continual swallowing and bitten-off noises were enough to make him excuse himself to the restrooms. Surprisingly, Barnes didn't seem to be there.

If Tony had known what would happen when he came back, he would have climbed out the incredibly small window and waited in the alley with the trash. It certainly would have saved him the bruised knuckles – punching a lot of people _hurt_ – and the new knowledge of how it felt to have a bottle broken on one's skull. Though, given the concussion, he might forget that fairly soon.

When he walked back out, Steve seemed less distracted, head bent toward the table with a dopey smile on his face, murmuring to himself. Then he glanced up at Tony, glanced past Tony toward the bar, and his all-American face went black as storm clouds. Spinning around, Stark groaned. The tattooed girl with the nice bike had turned down some kid who didn't wear his leather half as well as Bucky. Then she'd turned him down again. Then she'd thrown her drink in his face, and Captain America was out of his seat before the kid could try to put his hand anywhere else it shouldn't have been. Bucky flipped over the table in his haste to follow.

“She's not interested,” Steve told the kid, voice low. Behind him, Bucky's teeth flashed in the dim light, that dangerous smile sliding back onto his face.

The kid, too dumb to recognize Captain America and his best friend, the legendary hit man, turned and sneered. “Mind your own business, old man. She's whatever I say she is.”

“That's no way to talk about a lady.” Tony couldn't help snickering, at that, but he cut off quickly when Steve stepped wide, rolled onto the balls of his feet, and cracked his knuckles. The kid threw the first punch, his friend threw a chair – and Tony really should have known not to take Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes anywhere at all. They had left Captain America and the Winter Soldier at the door, apparently. This was all right hooks and knees to the gut and Steve head-butting the guy who put him in a choke hold while Bucky cracked someone over the head with a serving tray. It was graceless and messy and Tony would have continued gaping, except that some hulking giant threw a chair at him and he was too busy _brawling_ to do more than scream for Jarvis and try to hold his own.

Two hours later, they were back in the Tower. Tony had strapped ice packs to both hands and was making Bruce shine a penlight into his eyes. Again. Steve had a gash through his left eyebrow from a tequila bottle, and his shirt was in tatters, bruising over his ribs where they were already knitting back together. Bucky's eyes were blackening from the hit he'd taken to his nose, a handful of tissues stuffed under it to catch the bleeding, and to mop up any extra blood from his split lip. Which probably would have healed, if Bucky would stop grinning.

“That,” the world-famous assassin declared wetly, “was a hell of a fight.” He nodded approvingly at Tony. “You were right, Stark. Good bar.” On a different sofa, Clint laughed helplessly at the expression on Tony's face.

“Bucky's right,” Steve agreed, grabbing the drenched kleenex from a metal hand and using a fresh set to mop gently under Barnes's nose. “We owe you for that one. We can pick the next one.” He pulled the tissues away, leaned in to lick Bucky's lower lip and then blow on it to cool it down. Tony wondered how hard that beer bottle had hit him. “Maybe O'Sullivan's down in the Heights is still open. You remember that one, Buck?” The smile on Steve's face was wistful, the kind the Avengers had learned to associate with memories of street markets and laundry strung across alleyways. “They banned us from that one back in '39, after you broke Archie's nose.”

“Like that was my fault,” Bucky huffed, sounding like he had a bad cold. “You're the one that shoved the table into him when he said you were my dame. I was just defending your honor.” Gingerly, careful of his ribs, Steve laughed and twisted against Bucky on the couch, smile pressed into chin-length brown hair.

“'m not your dame.”

“Nah. But you look pretty swell when you're dolled up, kid.” Bucky's voice was lazy, more talkative than Tony had ever heard him. It must be how he acted after -

“Alcohol,” Tony begged Bruce. “Lots of alcohol. I'm not sure a concussion is enough to forget this ever happened.” Banner, face caught between fond and horrified, hurried to oblige. Clint stole two beers and hid behind the sofa.

“You remember that pub in London?” Steve went on, and Tony thought that someone should have made a note in the SSR records on Captain America. Something like, 'Subject is a brawler. Do not, under any circumstances, take him to a bar unless you're carrying brass knuckles and possibly an RPG.'

Barnes hummed agreeably, his default manner whenever Steve started a story with, “You remember?” They had all grown accustomed to hearing it, and Steve had learned to tell the story without waiting for his friend to fill in the blanks, to talk over the empty spaces. “They called Morita a yellow spy. That was a good fight.”

“That when Dugan took out a guy with his bowler?”

Steve chuckled again, lifting his head to stare at Bucky as though remembering a nasty brawl made him eligible for godhood. It didn't. Tony had asked Thor for an extensive list of what did make one eligible for godhood, and if there was a form. “Nah, that was Belgium. Spectacular, though. Same night you chucked that reporter who wouldn't interview Jones over the bar and into the mirror. Most amazing move I've seen.”

The Winter Soldier growled, replied, “You want to see amazing moves?” and Bruce, Tony and Clint all tried to slam through the kitchen doorway at the same time.

“Well,” Banner panted, when they were safely out of hearing range. “This evening has been. . . educational.”

Tony groaned, and buried his ringing head in his swollen hands. “Never again. Never, ever again.”

“Aww.” Clint patted his shoulder in mock sympathy. “Not old enough to bar fight with the big boys, Stark?”

The conversation stopped there, because it turned out that Bucky's shirt had been telling the truth – and that they weren't out of hearing range, after all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] A Good Fight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4242696) by [Val Mora (valmora)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/pseuds/Val%20Mora)




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